The Wise Man

Such fair dread did come my way,
On the eve of that other day,
When all lost and losing found their steps,
Hands tied; holding wrathful grapes,
And came to me with a rhyming plea,
Hollow like the warm depths of sea.

I said to them as I say to you,
‘ I hold no land held by secrets new,
All I have and all I dare,
Is to be simply still and do not care,
For I have come to an untenable pass,
A foe I desire to not surpass,
To which I cannot hold a light,
Against which my piety says nay to fight,
As I no longer need reasons to fail;
None is needed, thus all is well.’

They too as you, then turned their back,
As you they too, do something lack,
The truth about that ever happening might,
Which burns the day, which blinds the night.

Forever Yours.

I wish to be,
The world you see,
If you dream of a place,
Devoid of me.

And I may never know,
The answer,
You let it fall too quickly,
One midnight blue,
But I hold the moon; that corroded dime,
A collateral,
For our forgotten time.

I wish I could watch you,
Take a breath,
So the wheel halts, it’s macabre stride,
And your smile,
Sifts the wrinkled veil,
Of our endless moments,
Lying still.

The world is full of impossible things,
And you claim half of it.

Aging Anew.

This reality feels like sawdust,
Of a home I shaped,
In my dreams.

The mild fragrance of old flowers,
Cruising over my sentience,
Since long, long, long,
Lay today,
Thin like lacquer,
Shinning with cynical dirt, and
Acoustic accusations of a
Remembered silence, passed down the ages;
Colorless quotient,
Of divided demands.

Faces that once,
Helped me sleep,
Why do they now, keep me awake?
How the stories that kept me warm,
Now leave me cold,
On this new day?

Far too far,
This road has leapt,
Away from the walls I memorized well,
And now no window hails my call,
The city has sailed,
Is all they say.

Once Again Through This Night


I hold no flavored thought,
Like warm hands around my head,
It’s the morning of yesterday,
My body lies still in bed,
I feel the folding silk, falling soft satin,
I hear the wall clock murmur, murmur in latin,
There’s quiet to the point of loud,
Then a ringing, ringing cloud,
A gentle, gentle tapping,
Of the God slowly clapping,
In an aged, acted wonder,
At all my floating blunder,
I turn to dwell as lumber,
Drift into the dead- like slumber,
Where the sky dances pure white,
Kissing new twilight.


There are footsteps upon the stair,
Rising up in a pair,
And shadows on the floor,
Ears breathing through the door,
Then my name on fingertips,
Rainfall of petaled lips,
Nectar upon my neck,
Sunshine for my sake,
So I open my eyes to morn,
Like a bowl of reasons born,
Rising to feel my feet,
Come victory, come defeat.